Transmogrification
by lapsus calami
Summary: A dull summer leads Harry, Ron, and Hermione to their most impossible adventure ever – trying to make Remus Lupin suitable for a blind date.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Blind Date  
  
Summary: A dull summer leads Harry, Ron, and Hermione to their most impossible adventure ever – trying to make Remus Lupin suitable for a blind date.  
  
Note: I had nothing to do with this. The little aliens that plant inside your brain while you're bored out of your skull on an airplane for five hours? This whole thing is all THEIR idea. I swear.  
  
Another Note: The twist at the end was mine, however.  
  
The Last Note (for now. BWAHAHAHAH!): Attention, Remus Lovers – this is a PARODY. As I am readily counted amidst your numbers, I cannot express my emphasis upon this enough. Hence, I will resort to capital letters. THIS IS A PARODY. A PARODY. P-A-R-O-D-Y. Satire, okay? This is SUPPOSED to be rather zany. -Sighs- 'Though I suppose if you're going to flame me, go ahead. –Rolls eyes- Anyways, this is just sort of the pilot, to see the reaction. If it's good, I'll continue.  
  
There was an uncommon amount of people staying at Grimmauld that summer; Harry, Ron, and Hermione attempted many times to head out into the corridor, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ginny, or (even better) what the members of the Order were up to. However, the trio found themselves shoved, jostled, and rebuked in general, until they finally allowed themselves to be sent to their rooms.  
  
Harry sat at the edge of his bed, legs hung over the side, and his arms folded over his chest. He glared at the wall just above Ron's right shoulder, as the Weasley sat on the bed adjacent, a deep scowl scrawled across his features. "It's not fair," he said for the umpteenth time, every inch the angst-ridden teenager.  
  
Hermione frowned, looking up from a massive book at Harry, from where she sat cross-legged on the floor. "It's not good complaining about it," she said matter-of-factly.  
  
Ron exhaled heavily and lay down on his mattress. "No," he admitted. "But it does make me feel better."  
  
Always arriving at just the right moment, their former teacher, Lupin, opened the door – narrowly missing Hermione – and smiled genially at the three. "Having a good holiday?" he said. Somehow, every word that came out of his mouth seemed to be perfectly inopportune.  
  
Each gave the werewolf a perfectly evil look of loathing. Remus, however, was unperturbed. "Beautiful day out," he remarked with a grin.  
  
"Really?" said Ron. "I wouldn't know. We've only been cooped up here for AGES." He flashed a sardonic, simpering beam towards Lupin.  
  
"That's a shame," commented Lupin with a piteous shake of the head. He slipped a hand into the pockets of his cardigan, and frowned as he saw his thumb sticking out of a hole in the wool. "Ah – I'll have to have this mended, before tonight..."  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Why?" she asked dubiously.  
  
"What, you've got a hot date?" Harry interjected. Ron burst into sniggers.  
  
Lupin, however, didn't find this amusing, at all. Rather, his cheeks, usually quite pale, turned a rather nice shade of crimson to match Ron's hair. Hermione's jaw dropped. "YOU HAVE A HOT DATE?!" she shrieked, positively aghast.  
  
Remus's face darkened – it had now surpassed the colour of Ron's ginger locks, and was now the equivalent of Percy's face whenever he became rather spotty, which was often. He opened his mouth, promptly shut it, and cracked it open slightly again to mutter in the affirmative.  
  
"OH MY GODRIC!" screeched Ron. "MY TEACHER HAS A GIRLFRIEND?!"  
  
"I'm not your teacher anymore, Ron!" Remus shot back with a scowl, for lack of else to say. He glowered for a moment, before adding, "And, NO, I do NOT have a girlfriend." He shuffled his feet a bit. "It's just a date."  
  
"Who is it?" cried Harry, having broken from his stupor of incredulity. He gazed at the lycanthrope with a mixture of awe and horror.  
  
At first, Lupin did not answer, and his face was growing steadily past scarlet, through crimson, and into the qualifications of burgundy. Finally, he sighed. "I don't know."  
  
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON'T KNOW?" screamed Hermione, causing the portrait of Mrs Black a few floors below to burst into a new tirade. Hermione, however, ignored it. "HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW?"  
  
His face, having reached it's limits for turning bright red, paled and he smiled weakly. "It's sort of..." Lupin breathed heavily and shook his head, as 'though hoping to make it seem funny. "It's sort of a blind date."  
  
"A blind date?" said Hermione, finally lowering her voice from a scream, but dropped it into listless monotony. She looked at Lupin, eyed him up and down, and shook her head. "You're not going to get that sweater fixed in time," she said.  
  
Lupin looked down at the hole in his pocket and looked rather perplexed. "Why not?" he asked, ever innocuous. "It looks fine to me – easily fixed –"  
  
"NO," said Hermione forcefully, shaking her head again. "You CANNOT do that." She shook her head. "Is that ALL you own? Just a bunch of sweaters and tweed trousers?" Hermione peered at his shoes distastefully. "And loafers?"  
  
Lupin grimaced, as 'though he were going to retort, but it dawned on him, and his face fell. "Yeah," he said finally, rather crestfallen. "Sort of."  
  
Hermione clucked her tongue and shook her head. "If you do that again," said Harry warningly, "your head is going to fall off." Just to spite him, Hermione did so again.  
  
After assuring that her head was still firmly attached to her body, Hermione scowled at Lupin. "You can't conceivably make a good impression on ANYONE wearing something like THAT," she said bluntly. Lupin scowled at her.  
  
"And what would you suggest?" he asked, sounding irritated. He was quite obviously not one who liked his fashion decisions critiqued.  
  
Hermione shrugged, nonplussed. "We're going shopping. Duh," she added, the perfect teenager-esque reply.  
  
Lupin shook his head fervently. "Oh, NO." To his surprise, Ron had done the exact same thing simultaneously. Hermione looked over at Ron.  
  
"What's YOUR problem?" she asked.  
  
Ron scowled. "I am NOT going to go shopping," he said firmly. "I HATE shopping, and I'm not even your victim. Yet." He frowned at the very thought.  
  
Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "What, you don't want to get out of this house?" she asked. "Oh, all right – miss out on all the girls, out for summer shopping –"  
  
"Girls?" cried Ron and Harry at the same instant. Lupin raised an eyebrow, clearly intent on putting a stop to this while he still could, but Hermione interrupted.  
  
"Yes," she said with a nod. "Come on, then, Professor Lupin." 


	2. A Dismal Demise

Note: All shops will remain nameless. I will NOT be sued! Oo; Well, not for a while, anyways. Harry and Ron begin to have a somewhat bigger part in this. Characters a little exaggerated, to be sure, but all in the spirit of... Er... Entertainment.

* * *

"Where are you TAKING me?"  
  
Hermione held a firm grip around Remus's wrist, and the older man was looking flustered and perplexed. "What are we DOING?" he asked helplessly, looking behind him, only to see Harry and Ron peering about absently.  
  
"I thought I already explained this to you, Professor Lupin," replied Hermione blithely. "I'm taking you out for a new wardrobe. You can't possibly expect me to allow you to venture on a," she coughed discreetly, "date." She pointed, a little disgusted, at the baggy cardigan he was wearing. "I'd fancy you were from 'Father Knows Best', than anything else," she remarked scathingly.  
  
Lupin opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione dragged him sharply around a corner. Hermione grinned. "Here we are!" she declared cheerily. Lupin sighed in resignation. The rest of the day would be a most hellish trial.

* * *

"No," said Lupin flatly. "I beg your pardon, but there is no way in HELL that I am wearing this. Ever. Let alone on a romantic – situation," he finished lamely.  
  
Hermione blinked and peered at her former teacher's reflection. "I like it," she said blithely. "It brings out the colour of your eyes."  
  
"How would it do that, Hermione?" Lupin asked – the sarcasm in his voice was all too refreshing to hear from one who was generally quite polite. "I mean, I wouldn't want to question your expertise," he fluttered his scant eyelashes, "but my eyes are brown." He pointed to the jumper he was presently wearing. "This is PINK."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes – how was she supposed to WORK with this? Instead of replying, she turned to Harry, who was staring interestedly at the ceiling. "Where's Ron?" she asked, ignoring Lupin's eye twitches and erratic 'Humph!'s. "He can probably talk PROFESSOR LUPIN into it," Hermione added scathingly. "I mean, he wears – er - /flamboyant/ sweaters all the time."  
  
Harry shrugged. "I think he got kicked out," he replied blankly.  
  
"WHAT?" cried Hermione. "WHY?" Her eyes darted across the room – surely he had only wandered over to the lingerie section...  
  
Harry shrugged again. "I dunno."  
  
Hermione, rather than expressing her exasperation through intelligent speech, gave an almighty "AAAARGH!", grabbed Lupin by the collar, and proceeded to drag her previous teacher towards the department store's exit. Some fellow who was hired by the shop was playing at a large grand piano as she passed, and asked if she would like to make a request.  
  
"Miss!" cried a sales clerk. "I apologise, but he can't leave with that still on –" The unfortunate cashier pointed at the bright pink cashmere sweater Lupin was wearing.  
  
"Sod off!" Hermione replied snappishly. The man at the piano began to play some music generally correlated to dramatic film chase scenes. Lupin gesticulated apologetically for a moment, and even tried to break free of his ex-student's grasp, but failed horribly.  
  
"RON!" Hermione shrieked, having caught sight of Ron just outside the store. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"  
  
Ron blinked owlishly and brandished a cup of frozen yoghurt in one hand and a pretzel in the other. "Eating," he replied absently. He glanced at the man at the piano, as 'though he had never seen such a thing in his life, which he hadn't. "What are YOU doing?"  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but her voice was drowned out by the furious beeping of the store's alarm and an abrupt banging on the piano. Lupin gawked about, positively aghast, as the security guards began to circle. Hermione looked over her shoulder and saw perhaps six Muggles, all looking none too friendly. "Miss," one said, "PLEASE LET GO OF THE MAN IN THE PINK SWEATER. I REPEAT, PLEASE LET GO OF THE MAN IN THE PINK SWEATER."  
  
Lupin howled, and, for once in his life, it was not because he was in the form of a werewolf. Alas, it was a howl of mournful embarrassment. Hermione shrieked and immediately let go of the collar, but it was now stretched beyond all repair.  
  
Harry, having taken his jolly good time in following Hermione and Remus, strolled along, only to find the hapless pair being taken away by half a dozen security guards. He blinked rather owlishly, but all his qualms vanished when he saw Ron. Or, more importantly, what Ron was holding. "Can I have some?"  
  
Of course, once young Harry registered that his teacher and best friend being dragged off by security guards, his hero complex began to kick in. "Ron!" he cried. "Come on! We have to save them!"  
  
Ron blinked, Harry having spilt the frozen yoghurt all over his front. "What?" he said, checking his pockets. "Harry, do you have any napkins?"  
  
Harry ignored his friend's attire-related issues, and promptly dragged him off in the direction of the security entourage, which had conveniently carted away their two prisoners within moments. The wizard whipped out his wand melodramatically and turned to Ron. "Come on! Who knows what horrible things those – er – security guards will do to them!"  
  
Ron peered feebly at Harry. "Yeah, I know!" he said pitifully. "But can we please go get some paper towels or something before we go tearing after Lupin and Hermione...? I mean, don't you reckon a graduated Hogwarts alum and the smartest witch in our year can take care of a couple of Muggles?"  
  
"No!" shouted Harry. He leapt onto the top of the piano and pointed towards the direction in which the security guards had left. "I bet you anything those security guards were in the employ of –," a sudden roar of dramatic music rang throughout the store, "LORD VOLDEMORT!"  
  
Ron gasped dramatically.  
  
"So, come on! I mean, who knows what those evil security guards might –" Harry turned about and glared at the man at the piano. "Do you mind? I'm trying to foreshadow the events in the remaining plot."  
  
The man bowed his head sheepishly. "Sorry," he said, hands falling to his lap.  
  
"Thank you," said Harry. "Um... Where was I?"  
  
"Foreshadowing," answered Ron helpfully, experimentally putting a finger to his dripping sweater and sampling the frozen yoghurt. It was apparently still good, as he did so continually.  
  
"Oh. Thanks." Harry blinked. "Who knows what those evil security guards in the employ of –" He turned about to the man at the piano again. "You can do the dramatic music, now."  
  
The pianist squealed with glee. "Really?" he exclaimed. "Thanks – thank you!" He began tapping in the bass for suspense.  
  
"Yeah. Who knows what might happen to Lupin and Hermione, at the hands of the security guards in the employ of –" The music became more apprehensive, "Lord Voldemort."  
  
Ron gasped dramatically.  
  
Harry hopped down from the piano simply, with an absent smile. "So, let's go," he said simply, as he grabbed Ron by the sleeve and ran off. 


End file.
